Actually, mostly, I just complain to anyone who will listen about how I hate my job, take long walks around the building pondering the meaning of life and such, and periodically suck down into a hole in the universe located in the ventilation grille just to the left of my desk; where I can write bad poetry in peace while mumbling foul obscenities and feeding candy to the diabetic beaver that lives in the hole full time.

One day I told my therapist about the hole and the beaver, and he said, "Er, um, you are clearly insane and I will fix it."

He then pulled out his pen and prescribed some nice little blue pills. The beaver and the hole were still there after a week, so he prescribed some red pills along with the blue ones. Then when that still didn't work after another week, he scratched the tip of his nose, coughed, and said, "Um, maybe you should try these new purple pills instead, and we'll give you a round of shock treatment too." Of course this sounded fairly reasonable so I went along.

After this I reported to my therapist that the hole and the diabetic beaver were still there, but that I also couldn't remember a lot of my childhood or a lot of phone numbers and names. So in an effort to show me what is real and what is not real he asked me to take him to the office and show him the hole in the universe and the beaver.

We snuck into my workplace late on a Saturday night, and I showed him the hole in the universe and he crawled inside and said, "Er, um, wow, this is actually pretty cool, sorry about the shock treatments" and the Beaver belched loudly because I had fed him a lot of Zagnuts the day before.

My therapist now lives full time in the hole with the beaver and is publishing a thesis paper entitled "Alternative combined behavioral and psychopharmacopial treatment benefits of diabetic beavers that inhabit workplace wormholes."